


Tough Love

by BiscuitsForPotter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dating, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Failed Relationships, First Dates, Good Draco Malfoy, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione has a child, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Poetry, Inspired by a Movie, Loss of Virginity, Nikita Gill, Nikita Gill Challenge, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Pregnancy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Single Parents, Single mother Hermione, They don’t get together for a while, bad relationships, eventual Dramione, not quite Ron bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 23:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18226886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiscuitsForPotter/pseuds/BiscuitsForPotter
Summary: Three bad relationships. Two times her heart is broken. One time it grows stronger. Hermione Granger always seems to choose the wrong men to date.Inspired by the Nikita Gill poem "Tough Love" & written for the DFW Nikita Gill Challenge.





	1. Some Holiday Destination

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the wonderful Exquisite Obsidian and Highlyintelligentblonde for being Alpha and Beta for me. 
> 
> This piece was inspired both by the Nikita Gill poem "Tough Love" (each of the 4 stanzas will open a chapter) and the movie Waitress.

**I.**

**You are not**

**some holiday destination**

**for people to have**

**a good time in**

**and then forget.**

Hermione shuffled her feet as she waited by the Hogwarts gates; the wet October wind was beginning to seep through her thick jumper. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she looked around for any sign of her date. The invitation had surprised her the previous week during breakfast. An unfamiliar tawny owl had swooped down and offered his leg before nipping at a piece of bacon as he waited for her reply.

This letter had come as a shock. Up until that point during her eighth year at Hogwarts, Hermione almost never received mail. Her parents were still working through their anger and seemed to have no immediate plans to contact her. And Ron? Ron had decided that he “wasn’t in a good place” for a committed relationship at the moment and had essentially broken them up before they even got beyond a couple of kisses. Yet, she had heard through the grapevine that Ron had started seeing a girl from his auror training cohort.

Hermione didn’t like to think about that.

Mostly, she heard from Harry, but that was usually through his letters to Ginny.

That’s why, when she unfolded the parchment from this new owl and found a letter from _Cormac McLaggen_ of all people, she almost spit her coffee out all over the breakfast table.  

It seemed he was now training to be a member of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. According to the letter, he would be visiting Hogwarts to talk to Madam Hooch at the end of the month. When Hermione’s eyes fell on the last lines of the letter, she almost dropped it into her eggs:

_I was hoping to see you during my visit. I know I was a total arse a couple years ago, but I promise I’ve grown up since then. Can you have lunch with me in the Three Broomsticks? I checked and it’s a Hogsmeade weekend. Think about it. - Cormac  
_

Hermione lifted her mug to her lips and sipped her hot coffee, letting the bitter liquid wake her up. Perhaps she was still half-asleep. After a couple more sips and a few forkfuls of egg, she read the letter again to ensure she hadn’t been mistaken.

She hadn’t. Cormac McLaggen had, indeed, written her a letter and asked her on a date.

If there was one thing she hadn’t expected during this year at Hogwarts, it was a date offer. After her breakup with Ron, the plan had been to focus solely on her studies and trying to move forward. She had nearly crumpled the letter and tossed it away when she paused.

Ron had said he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship, but he was clearly interested in someone new. How was that fair? Gritting her teeth, Hermione licked her lips once before penning her response with rushed movements before she could have second thoughts.

_That sounds lovely. How does half-past twelve sound? – Hermione._

As the tawny owl flew off, Hermione sighed, returning to her coffee. She couldn’t tell if the unsettled sensation in her stomach stemmed from a feeling of uneasiness or excitement.

So here she stood, stomach still vacillating between feeling full of lead and full of butterflies.

It wasn’t until Cormac’s curly head became visible through the sea of other students heading to the village that her stomach seemed to make a decision: butterflies.

How odd.

He greeted her by extending his arm for her to take, and Hermione was grateful for a little extra body heat; after waiting in the cold for several minutes, she’d definitely take it. Cormac McLaggen as she remembered him was bulky, arrogant, and disgusting. The young man who walked at her side now was certainly still large, but as he spoke, Hermione began to question the other two descriptors.

Conversation between them actually flowed, mostly stemming from his shocking, newly-developed ability to let her speak.

He seemed to listen with rapt attention as she talked about life at Hogwarts, her fears about NEWTs, and her hopes for job prospects. In turn, he talked about his responsibilities as a new trainee at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Apparently, he spent much of his day double-checking memos before they were sent out and chasing down specific Ministry members.

“I’m hoping to work my way up. I’d love to work on a Quidditch committee eventually. Obviously, I’d have asked Rufus Scrimgeour to put in a good word for me if the situation had been different.” He paused, scratching his head. “Unless you know the new Minster, eh?” He winked, raising his glass slightly, before taking a large gulp of his butterbeer.

When Hermione spluttered and tried to make it abundantly clear that while she _did_ know Kingsley Shacklebolt, she was in no position to ask him for such a favor, Cormac burst out laughing.

“I’m only joking, Hermione. I’ve got no problems putting in the work.”

She sniffed, a smile tugging at her lips, and grabbed a chip off their shared plate, popping it in her mouth.

Cormac’s self-assessment hadn’t been completely off. He had really grown up over the past couple of years. Walking around Hogsmeade with him in the October mist, he reached for her hand. His grip was firm, but not unwelcome; her entire hand was enveloped in his palm. She didn’t pull away. Looking at Cormac, he wasn’t a bad-looking bloke. He was quite tall, towering over her by a foot at least, his torso broad and thick. His face wasn’t exactly kind or soft, but when he wasn’t smirking, he was rather handsome.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said when they reached the gates after wandering about and chatting for an hour or so.

Hermione paused before responding. Today had gone far better than expected, and conversation with Cormac had been rather pleasant. Was she attracted to him? That was as of yet unclear. But the one thing Hermione didn’t want to do was to create an awkward situation. Not when she knew Cormac’s temper so well and not with all these other students around as they filtered back up to the castle. Besides, she was cold and wanted to get inside; any other answer would surely lead to a confrontation and even colder toes.

“Yeah. Sure,” she responded, nodding. Immediately, Cormac’s face lit up.

“Great! I’ll… I’ll owl you, okay?” He grinned at her, keeping hold of her hand for just a moment longer before pulling her into his arms. Hermione squeaked as Cormac drew her in; the sudden show of affection took her by surprise. He was large enough that he ended up lifting her onto her toes as they embraced. After a handful of seconds, he lowered her to the ground and bid her goodbye, a clear spring in his step as he walked back toward the village.

* * *

 

That wait by the Hogwarts gate soon became a weekly occurrence; as an eighth year, she was permitted to visit Hogsmeade as many weekends as she liked. Jumpers soon turned to thick jackets, scarves, and wool hats as fall faded to winter. Hermione learned to recognize Cormac’s signature tan coat and red beanie as he made his way up the village path.

They still chatted over lunch each time, often walking through the village and poking around shops. The only difference between each date seemed to be the level of affection Cormac offered. What began as hugs quickly turned to pecks on the lips. Though he never quite asked permission from Hermione, his kisses felt quite lovely. She felt herself falling hard and fast, and despite the butterflies in her stomach she now felt whenever she saw him, it frightened her to feel the way she did.

Perhaps that was the reason she nearly hesitated when he invited her to spend the Christmas holiday with his family. She had mentioned previously that her own family had still not reached out, and this seemed to be his way of trying to help.

Visions of a warm, inviting Christmas at the Burrow flashed in her mind. Last year’s Christmas had been so bleak and disparaging. Yet, the thought of Ron bringing some coworker along to meet his family twisted her insides into knots.

“Of course. I’d love to come.” She smiled as Cormac discussed the Christmas Eve party his family hosted each year in their ballroom; the way he described the event, it sounded as though it would be bursting with important people. Hermione mentioned that she’d likely prefer to stay in and read by a warm fire, but Cormac just shook his head, laughing.

Christmas with the McLaggens turned out to be as overwhelming as she imagined. At least a hundred people attended the evening’s festivities, and Hermione found herself glued to Cormac’s side. She wore a burgundy dress with sleeves of lace that kept the winter chill away, and Cormac kept looking her up and down with unmistakable hunger. All evening long, he whisked her around, making introductions to important members of Wizarding society: politicians, masters, importers, authors, and one very flustered-looking musician. Certainly if Professor Slughorn had been present, he’d have had a field day.

All of them wanted to speak to her: Harry Potter’s best friend; the one and only Hermione Granger. Though she held back at first, she found she actually rather enjoyed meeting such fascinating people; they tended to pry a little more than she was comfortable. But with enough insistence on her part, she was able to get them to talk about their field. She had grilled a member of the Wizengamot about elf rights, asked Miranda Goshawk about the theory behind memory charms, and even inquired about apprenticeships with several masters.

As she held these thrilling conversations, Cormac stood by her side, fidgeting and clearly trying to hold back from interjecting. Several times, he raised his hand and took a breath as if about to speak but kept getting interrupted by comments about the uses of amphibian bile or details about bylaws concerning non-human creatures’ rights. After nearly an hour of this enthusiastic discussion, Cormac finally managed to drag her away, glass of wine in hand, to a more secluded corner of the ballroom.

Hermione protested initially but found that his lips felt rather heavenly on her neck.

When they were eventually able to retire for the evening, Hermione made a point to light a fire in her guest bedroom and grab a book to read. She immersed herself in a copy of _Advanced Potion Making,_ becoming so absorbed in the minutia of brewing that she didn’t notice when Cormac snuck into the room. Just as she turned a page, he practically pounced on her, his pyjama-clad body covering hers. Hermione shrieked as large hands encircled her waist.

Without any sort of dialogue, his lips found hers; the feeling of his tongue was quite lovely. They sat by the fire together for some time, touching and kissing with growing intensity. Hermione wasn’t sure when the tone of their encounter changed, but at one point she became aware that he had removed his pyjama vest, revealing his bulky chest. Her mouth went dry at the sight. She hadn’t expected to find Cormac so attractive, but her body told her otherwise.

“Cormac, I–” she began.

“Do you want to sleep with me, Hermione?”

Her mouth dropped open. She knew Cormac could be a bit crude and more than a bit direct, but surely, this wasn’t how he was going to ask her _that_ question? She shook her head.

“I’m sorry, what?”

He smirked. “ _Do you want to sleep with me, Hermione?_ Gods know I want to sleep with you.”

Hermione paused, considering the different ways this situation could proceed.

 _You want to move forward, don’t you_? A voice in her head seemed to egg her on. _He’s a nice enough guy. He’s way better than he used to be._

“Um, maybe? Have you ever–?” Hermione coughed. “Have you ever slept with anyone before?”

For the first time, Cormac faltered. “Yes. Last year. It was a nice escape. Don’t remember the girl’s name. We were both drunk.” He seemed almost sad when he spoke, his hands fidgeting. She had never seen Cormac speak so frankly, and despite the more rational side of her protesting, her heart leapt at this chance to show him how much she had grown to care. 

“Yes. All right, then.”

Cormac’s head shot up. “What?”

“I do. Want to sleep with you, that is.” Hermione offered a sheepish smile, and Cormac grinned back.

Immediately, his lips returned to hers, and he pushed her nightgown off her shoulders. Hermione’s immediate instinct was to cover up, but Cormac pushed her hands away from her chest.

“Let me see you. Please.”

She obeyed, and her hands fell limply to her side.

What followed didn’t take a particularly long time; it also wasn’t particularly satisfying. Cormac had shed his own clothes while Hermione shimmied her nightgown the rest of the way down her body. There was a brief pause when they gawked at each other. Cormac looked like he was about to drool as he practically eye-fucked her breasts. Hermione was more focused on… down there.

She swallowed. She could do this. Right?

Cormac crawled on top of her and placed his arms on either side of her.

“Ready?”

Hermione wasn’t sure words would come out if she tried to speak, so she nodded instead. Reaching down, Cormac lined himself up and pushed in. The feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but it wasn’t anything to write home about.

On the other hand, Cormac let out an embarrassingly loud groan.

“Shh!” Hermione whispered, hyper-aware of the outside presence inside of her. “Someone could hear!”

“I put up a silencing charm. We’re fine.” Cormac was making all kinds of faces, his jaw slack and his eyes fluttering. “Oh my gods. You feel so good.”

Hermione grimaced. “Yeah,” she said, offhand. “So do you.”

With a growl, Cormac began to thrust. With each movement, he moaned louder and louder. Hermione laid under him, her brain going a mile a minute trying to process the fact that she was having sex.

She was having sex. Right now. With Cormac McLaggen.

And then, before her brain could even start to play catch up, Cormac gave a shout and collapsed on top of her. All the air shot out of her lungs and she gasped.

“Shit. That was way better than I remember.” Cormac grinned like an idiot as he rolled off her. Reaching over to his gear, he dug through his pile of discarded clothing and pulled out his wand. Tapping it on her abdomen, he whispered a spell.

Her mind clicked into place. Contraception. Right.

She had had sex and now needed contraception.

The rest of the holidays flew by. Cormac had wanted to have sex several other times, and by the end of the break, she had gotten rather used to it. Once or twice, the friction had even started to feel good.

Returning to Hogwarts almost felt like a slide backward. After meeting all those exciting and powerful members of the Wizarding community, she felt more ready than ever to graduate and move on with her life. It wasn’t that she regretted returning to Hogwarts; no, not at all. She was just ready to move forward.

All through the Spring term, Cormac continued to write almost daily. Usually, he filled her in on the day-to-day details of his continued training at the Ministry. He also asked about her studies. Sometimes, however, he liked to write her incredibly explicit notes containing descriptions of what he wanted them to do during their next date in Hogsmeade. Hermione tried to tell him multiple times that opening those letters in the Great Hall made her uncomfortable.

He had written back and told her to just open all his letters in private.

 _Besides,_ he had written, _we’re going to need some foreplay before this Saturday._

Cormac was incorrigible and insatiable, certainly. But Hermione still enjoyed his company for the most part. Ginny, on the other hand, thought Hermione had completely lost her mind.

“I still say he’s no good for you,” she chided one April evening in the common room as they finished up a particularly tricky NEWT practice problem set from Professor Slughorn.

“Oh, hush. He’s… sweet.”

“Cormac McLaggen, _sweet_?” Ginny pulled a face. “You do realize he’s the same Cormac who struck Harry in the face with a bludger, right?”

Hermione shook her head. “He’s kind of an arse, yeah. I know. But we’re really enjoying our time together. He’s gotten way better at… you know.”

She turned red as Ginny made an even more grotesque face.

“Urgh. I just don’t want to picture that.”

Hermione stuck her tongue out at her friend. She knew Cormac had his flaws, but who didn’t? Besides, after months of rather mundane conversation, the had recently discovered a mutual interest: magical creatures. They loved to discuss their various encounters with beasts and animals, and they had poured over Newt Scamander’s works together in a private room at the Three Broomsticks over the course of several Saturdays.

That was, of course, until Cormac began to nip at her earlobe. Then the tone of those days changed entirely.

Still, it was nice to find a real connection with him after months of viewing him as more of a physical being.

As graduation drew nearer and thoughts of her future loomed ever closer, Hermione’s life encompassed three thoughts: her NEWTs, what job she ought to pursue, and how Cormac fit into those plans. Thoughts of including him in her future made those same, damn butterflies erupt in her stomach. Several times through May and June, she tried to bring up the future with him, but whenever she started to broach the subject, he would kiss her and tell her not to worry so much.

Looking back, she would have seen the warning signs.

* * *

 

The last week in June arrived along with an ocean of flowers that seemed to pop up wherever she looked. All the seventh and eighth years, finally finished with their NEWTs, enjoyed their dwindling number of days in the castle. They spent their afternoons lying by the lake, soaking up the sun and laughing together. Hermione had chosen to cancel her usual Saturday date with Cormac in favor of a large picnic and swim with her fellow graduates.

Oddly enough, her boyfriend hadn’t kicked up a fuss.

By the time graduation came around, she found she hadn’t received a letter from him in nearly two weeks. His tawny owl had been quite absent from the Great Hall. She had shrugged it off at the time but couldn’t hide her eagerness to see him at the ceremony. The day of, she made sure to wear her hair just the way he liked (pulled into a bun) and had picked out new dress robes for the occasion. Underneath, she wore little something extra to celebrate.

When it was her turn to walk the stage that had been conjured in the Great Hall, Hermione looked out at the audience for the first time. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the Weasleys, and to Ron. He waved as she caught his eye. Harry sat with them, a sleeping Teddy Lupin in his lap. She beamed at her best friends.

Hermione continued to search the audience, but there seemed to be no sign of Cormac. Her heart dropped. All the giddiness she had been feeling was replaced with a quiet emptiness.

When the graduation reception began outside on the grounds, much to her surprise, she found that familiar tawny owl waiting for her at her assigned seat. Fingers trembling, she untied the letter attached to its leg.

_Hermione – Sorry I couldn’t make it to your graduation. I know how hard you’ve worked. You should be proud of yourself._

_There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just get on with it. I want to break up. We’ve had our fun and I liked being with you, but I just feel like it’s time to move on. I’m sure there’s other guys you’d like to date, just like I want to play the field for a bit. You were starting to seem a little serious there for a bit and it was a little bit much. You know?  
_

_We still had a good time, though, right? I know I did. I think I’ll miss your tits most of all. Bit of a shame, really.  
_

_See you around. And congratulations.  – Cormac_

How… how _dare_ he? Hermione’s heart pounded, her palms growing sweaty. She felt a wave vomit rise in her throat, and quickly moved to cover her mouth. Ignoring the odd looks on her friends’ faces, she stormed away from the reception and around the far side of the castle, where she promptly threw up in a bush.

Shit.

She was such an idiot. Such an idiot! Of course _Cormac McLaggen_ had played her. Had he really just been trying to play the field? If so, why had he gone on all those dates with her? What if he had just wanted to use her to get more experience in bed? The thought made her sick. But if that was the case, why had she met his family at Christmas? It just made no sense. No damn sense at all.

Ron found her several minutes later, huddled next to her puddle of vomit, still crying.

“Come on, ‘Mione. Up you get. Forget about that tosser and go enjoy graduation.” He offered her a weak smile.

“Thanks, R– wait. Did you read that letter?”

Ron turned pink.

“Well, you did leave it open on the table. I saw you run off and I just kind of put two and two together.”

He reached a hand out and pulled Hermione to her feet. The beautiful robes she had ordered just for the occasion were now covered in bits of grass and wrinkles, and she could feel her hair falling out of place.

Good.

She never really liked wearing her hair in a bun, anyway.

“Come on, Ron. Let’s go get some food.” She sniffled once more and wiped the remaining tears from her eyes.

As they made their way back to the celebration, Hermione steeled herself for the onslaught of comments she would surely be facing. Fucking Cormac wouldn’t have to deal with all the questions, but she would. No wonder he hadn’t shown today.

Fuck him.

In that moment, Hermione Granger decided she was done with casual relationships.


	2. Bury Their Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful Exquisite Obsidian and Highlyintelligentblonde for being Alpha and Beta for me.
> 
> This piece was inspired both by the Nikita Gill poem "Tough Love" (each of the 4 stanzas will open a chapter) and the movie Waitress.

**II.**

**You are not a grave**

**for people to bury**

**their pain inside,**

**never to be**

**remembered again.**

For the second time in the course of a year, Hermione found herself standing on the precipice of a first date, heart beating a little heavier than usual, her eyes wide and searching for the man who would accompany her.

No longer a student at Hogwarts, Hermione waited near the entrance to Diagon Alley, hands fidgeting with her purse strap. She had decided to dress up a bit for the occasion – a simple, floral sundress to combat the August heat. Besides, she wanted to impress her date. She had known him for so long that she felt she almost needed to make a fresh impression with this new beginning.

Hermione smiled at the thought. A new beginning was just what she needed.

Ever since her disastrous graduation, she had taken to spending time only with those she knew well. Looking back, Cormac had treated her rather like dirt. Even when she had perceived a true connection with him, it was just him manipulating her for more sex. Until he got bored, of course. She could see it clearly now that she was in the clear.

The life Hermione had briefly envisioned for herself had crumbled before her eyes, and she had to scramble to find housing of some sort. To her great surprise, it hadn’t taken her long to find living arrangements: after hearing about her breakup, Luna Lovegood had offered Hermione the second bedroom in her new flat near Diagon Alley.

“It’s not out of pity,” she had explained. “I just need someone to be there when I’m out on expeditions, and you seemed rather free.”

Free was a nice word for it.

That was exactly how Hermione felt today, though. Unlike her last first date, this time she felt nothing but butterflies.

When she saw the familiar redhead approach her, a bouquet of pink and yellow flowers in hand, she couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear.

“Hullo, Ron,” she called, stepping out to greet him. He waved back, flashing his own grin. Hermione couldn’t help but notice the way Ron Weasley held himself these days. No longer the boy who constantly questioned his worth, he seemed to stand straighter, take broader steps, and speak with greater ease.

He had also filled out rather nicely while she had been away at Hogwarts this past year. Now that she had experienced sex firsthand, she found herself immediately drawn to him physically. He was nowhere nearly as bulky as Cormac, but auror training had clearly helped define the muscles clinging to his lanky frame.

If it had been up to her baser instincts, she would have climbed him like a tree right there outside the Leaky Cauldron. Not knowing Ron’s expectations, however, kept her from potentially embarrassing herself in public.

Ron had let Hermione pick the activity for their first date, and she had selected the cinema as their destination. Naturally, Ron’s eyes had gone wide from the moment they stepped into the multiplex. Hermione half paid attention to the film – something about ghosts and a little boy; the majority of her brain was focused solely on the feeling of Ron’s calloused fingers intertwined with hers.

He had approached her after dinner with his family a month or so after her rough breakup, sheepish and seemingly cautious. The girl Harry had hinted about a handful of times in his letters had turned out to no one of importance – just an overly-friendly coworker. Ron and Hermione had huddled together in a corner of the Burrow’s sitting room away from the bustling dinner table. Ron had babbled a bit, shifting from one foot to another until words came pouring out of him in one fell swoop. He spoke of how he had been scared to actually date her. How his heart had broken for her when Cormac dumped her. How no other girl could compare to her.

Hermione absorbed it all in stunned silence, her heart almost too afraid to stutter a beat.

When he finished confessing, she simply reached for his hand. There had been no real need for words at that moment.

Now, a little over a week later, they sat together in the cinema, fingers intertwined, Ron with his eyes glued to the screen. It all felt right, somehow.

“Wow. What a twist!” the redhead jabbered away as they filed toward the exit, his hand digging for the vestiges of popcorn clinging to the bottom of the box. “This is one bit of muggle living I could definitely get used to.” 

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Hermione said, taking his hand.

He squeezed it back.

“Still, that film made me wonder about ghosts. If… everyone is doing all right on the other side.”

Ron had frozen in the theater atrium. He was blinking furiously, clearly trying to head off a bout of crying.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he looked skyward, drawing a deep breath in through his nose. “Just being stupid. This doesn’t happen often, I swear.”

Hermione was quick to lean onto his shoulder, giving his hand another squeeze.

“Nonsense. You’re allowed to feel grief, Ron.” She rubbed his back for a moment before a funny memory floated across her mind and she barked out a short laugh.

Ron pulled back, confusion filling every inch of his freckled face.

“Sorry,” she said through a chuckle. “I just thought back to our fifth year when I told you that you have the emotional range of a teaspoon. Not so true anymore, is it?”

Ron gave a single snort and threw an arm over her shoulder. They continued on their way, their giddy first-date energy returning to them as they exited the theater.

* * *

 

After several months of quiet, easy dates like this, it became apparent that Ron Weasley was, indeed, capable of processing and showing a breadth of emotions.

He had peppered her face with kisses in September when she was accepted for a rather prestigious apprenticeship with a potions master to learn experimental healing potions. Hermione supposed that was the one thing she had Cormac to thank for – it was at his family’s Christmas party where she had met this master. Not that Cormac McLaggen was anywhere near her thoughts as Ron pampered her with praise and took her out to dinner at a romantic Italian restaurant.

It wasn’t just positive emotions he had learned to process, though.

He had come home from training in a hell of a mood one October evening. Apparently, some mid-level auror had chewed him out for miscalculating the time it would take for their Polyjuice potion to wear off. His hair had turned bright red in the middle of a mock mission during which he was supposed to be playing the part of a dark-haired Turkish man. That evening, Ron had stormed through the door to her flat, fire in his eyes and a near-animalistic fury in his voice. Hermione spent the better part of two hours talking him down. When he finally calmed, he fell asleep with his head in her lap; his temper tantrum had sucked the energy right out of him. Though she had reading to do for her apprenticeship, she allowed herself to focus on Ron for now. Running her hands through his soft, red hair somehow brought her comfort, too.

Ron also cried from grief more times than Hermione had once believed capable. Though it was the new normal to find him a bit misty-eyed on occasion, it wasn’t until December rolled in with a deep blanket of snowfall that she witnessed a true breakdown. They had spent the better part of a Sunday at the Burrow making Christmas preparations, family ducking in and out to say hello and help when they could. She and Ron had been tasked with clearing snow from the various paths in the garden, and it had been going well enough; the winter wind had just set in for the season, but it wasn’t yet bitter enough to be entirely unpleasant. Ron’s cheeks were tinged pink with cold, and she assumed hers looked the same. They had just finished making a path at the edge of the orchard when Hermione turned to see her boyfriend leaning forward on his knees, gasping for breath.

A wave of panic filled her chest, and she raced toward him, heart thudding and mind numb.

It had taken almost forty-five minutes of gentle coaxing to get him to unfreeze and walk inside. By the time the two of them collapsed onto the couch, Hermione’s extremities were filled with searing pain from overexposure to the cold.

Ron leaned back, his head resting on the back of the sofa. After suffering in silence despite coaxing, he finally choked out, “That’s where… that’s where Fred and George used to throw snowballs at me every Christmas. It just hit me while we were back there is all.”

Her boyfriend spoke as though he were explaining away the presence of something mildly unexpected; he kept his tone light, though Hermione could practically feel the upset in his voice by the way it wobbled. 

That night, as they lay together in Ron’s childhood bedroom, Hermione reached out to offer comfort in the only way she could think of.

As their naked bodies pressed together for the first time, a wave of contentedness washed over her. All that had happened in the past year didn’t matter anymore; their silly childhood fights didn’t matter either.

What mattered now was the feeling of Ron’s weight on top of her, making her feel calm and grounded; the feeling of his full lips as they ghosted her skin; the way he touched her with such reverence that she felt like the only woman in the world. And when his cock filled her for the first time, it felt as though her entire world shifted.

Unlike Cormac, Ron was not an entirely selfish lover. His hands may have fumbled with nerves, but he brought her closer to the edge than Cormac ever did. After, they cuddled into each other’s arms, Hermione’s heart beating in time with his. Ron fell asleep fairly quickly, but she didn’t mind.

Ron asked her to move in with him six months after they began dating. He had asked the waiter to drop an extra key to his flat in her drink at dinner. Neither of them slept much that night, drunk on each other and more than a bit of champagne.

Truly, this was the way life was supposed to be.

Luna hadn’t been too upset that she moved out. Though she adored Luna, frankly, Hermione was glad to be leaving. She had had enough comments shared over tea to last a lifetime about particularly auspicious positions for her and Ron to try in bed.

Even though their respective jobs delivered heaping piles of stress each day, Hermione took comfort in being able to let it all go when she walked through the door to their shared flat. The first thing she often did when she got home was to kick off her practical, black flats. The second was to locate her boyfriend and get him naked. Rare was the evening when they didn’t have sex, and Hermione didn’t mind one bit.

As six months faded into a year, Hermione began to come home with exciting news from her apprenticeship: successfully brewing the next generation of wolfsbane potion; developing a theoretical breakthrough in treating dragon pox; receiving a myriad of job offers from various potions development companies. Hermione met each success with excitement, and she raced home at the end of those days to tell the most important person in her life the good news.

At first, Ron greeted her successes with the same enthusiasm he had a year previously; he covered her with kisses and declared how proud he was of her. The bedroom was another place he liked to reward her achievements.

Yet, as her list of accomplishments continued to build, his seemed to be stagnating.

He often returned home from work in a dark mood, his expression foul and his words venomous. Hermione pushed him to talk sometimes, but he just complained of a difficult day without getting into any specifics.

“Please,” he would mutter, eyes pleading and hands gravitating toward her chest, “Please make my day better, ‘Mione.”

Some days it felt like all they did was have sex. Whenever he had a ‘difficult day’ as he put it, the answer for him was to come apart in her arms. And Hermione certainly didn’t mind. At first.

But after a handful of months like this, it felt as though they hardly talked any longer. Mornings were rushed, filled with sleepy cups of coffee and hasty pecks on the lips. Both of them often worked until the early evening, leaving precious few hours to spend together. Yet, when Ron returned home from yet another ‘difficult day’ – which was often – it seemed he just wanted to get off, eat, and go to sleep.

It seemed the only time they ever really talked was when he had a breakdown. These instances happened only occasionally, and Hermione tried to keep a mental checklist of what triggered him. Once it was a stray nosebleed nougat wrapper he found on the floor of his office. Another time, it was an old textbook with his brother’s name scrawled on the inside.

The one time she had brought up the idea of therapy to him, he had dismissed it entirely.

Life with Ron had turned into walking on eggshells. He came home from work in a bad place often enough that Hermione had stopped allowing herself to get excited to tell Ron her good news. On the day she patented her first original potion, she hadn’t even planned to mention it when he came home. Sure enough, he flew through the front door like a hurricane that evening, venting about the boss he couldn’t stand. When he had calmed down enough to sit, Hermione placed a plate in front of him.

Clearly still not over whatever was happening at work, he had picked a fight about her cooking.  

Much later, after she had scrubbed the kitchen and fallen into bed alone, he climbed in beside her, kissed her cheek, and apologized for his temper.

“Gods, I’m such an idiot sometimes. I was in a bad mood and I took it out on you. Forgive me, love?”  

She let her body do the talking for her. Ron made her come three times that night. It almost made up for the fact that she never got around to telling him about her career milestone.

Soon, this became their routine. An angry return home. Picking a fight. An apology. Make-up sex. Round and round they went for months until Hermione no longer felt like a proper girlfriend, but instead, a receptacle for all Ron Weasley’s anger, sadness, and insecurities.

Hermione had had enough. When Ron came home in a mood in mid-July 2001, his fiery hair crackling with furious energy, she met him at the kitchen table, legs crossed and eyes firm. He swooped down to kiss her, but she pushed him away gently. In their nearly two-year relationship, she had never denied his affection.

Eyebrows furrowed, he backed away, concern etched on his face.

“What’s going on?”

“We need to talk.” Her voice remained steady as she spoke. 

Ron’s expression shifted away from anger and confusion to something more fragile; his eyes always gave him away.

“Love, you’re angry again. You’re just so angry these days. And I feel as though when you’re not angry, you’re hurt or depressed or just sad. I want to help and make you feel better, but I think our methods are just putting a bandage on a wound that’s so deep it can’t heal without proper care.”

Hermione felt her breath quicken as she spoke, tears forming in her own eyes. She couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry. Not now.

“If you’re not going to talk to me about whatever is going on at work or how you’re feeling about… about Fred, I really think you should see a therapist and talk it out there.” She paused to give her words the opportunity to sink in. “Because I don’t think what’s going on here is healthy.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, settling onto the sofa.

“When was the last time we had a real conversation? About anything not related to your work or trying to move on from losing your brother? Can you remember? Because I can’t seem to.”

Hermione looked up at her boyfriend, her eyes swimming with tears she hadn’t dared to shed in so long.

“I’m always hesitant to bring up work, because even though it’s apparently complete shit for you, it’s never been better for me. What I’m doing, it… it really excites me. I don’t like to talk about my success at work, because I’m afraid it’ll trigger a meltdown for you.” All the pent-up disappointment she had been feeling for months came spilling out of her, much as Ron’s initial confession had all that time ago. “You don’t even know what I’m doing – or have been doing – a at work for almost a year. Do you?”

Ron shifted, his eyes moving back and forth as if searching for the answer in her face. After a moment, he sighed, leaning against their kitchen wall.

“I dunno. New potions?” He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m the worst boyfriend. I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

Ron stood like that for a moment. The two of them soaked in the silence. After a bit, Hermione watched as his eyes opened and he pushed himself off the wall with his foot; he pulled a kitchen chair out and sat, facing her.

“I want to know about your work. I want to start talking again. Do you think we could do that, Hermione?”

The look in his eyes was so earnest that Hermione almost caved, much as she had time and time again over the past two years. She loved Ron. She really, truly did. But no.

“I… I really don’t think that’s possible, Ron.”

His head shot up. “What? Why? Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

Hermione licked her lips as her mind reached for the right words to resolve this situation without a fight.

“Can you picture us in five years if we keep doing this?” she asked eventually. “Because I can. You’ll be an auror and you’ll likely still be unable to compartmentalize your negative feelings about work. Every day, you’ll come home from god-knows-what kind of dangerous situation, and I’ll be waiting to make sure you’re all right. Maybe we would have a child by then, and–”

“A child?” Ron gulped, his eyes going wide.

“Yes. A child. We’d be twenty-six by then, so it would definitely be a possibility.”

Ron nodded quietly as she continued speaking.

“Maybe we’d have a child, and I would have picked him up from daycare earlier. We would be waiting for you to get home to tell you all about the exciting things we did that day.” She paused to take a breath. This is where she really wanted to drive her point home. “But if your experience in auror training is an indication of what you’ll be like as an actual auror, I don’t want to have you coming home every day in a toxic mood. It’s draining and I… I feel like I can’t be myself around you anymore.

“Not only that, but I feel that no matter what would be happening in my career, yours would always take precedence. That’s something some women can put up with, but I just can’t. My job doesn’t have to be more important than yours, but it has to matter to you as much as yours matters to me.”

She stopped to take a breath again. Ron looked down at his shoelaces.

“Does that make sense, Ron? Do you see what I see, now? Can you understand why I’m not happy? Why I haven’t been happy in a really long time?”

These last couple of sentences came out almost like begging, and they brought Ron’s eyes back upward. Hermione’s heart nearly stopped when he looked at her.

Tears swam in his eyes and he held out his hand. Hermione reached forward and took it.

Ron squeezed. She squeezed back.

“It does make sense, ‘Mione. I hate it, because I love you. But you’re not wrong.” He ran his fingers through his hair with his free hand. “You’re definitely not wrong.”

Hermione let out her breath and felt every tense muscle in her body begin to unclench; it was as though she was melting into her chair in relief.

“So now what?” he asked, hand still enveloping hers.

“I think… I think you need to work on yourself before you can be with someone. See a therapist. Talk about what’s going on with someone who can actually help. I need to focus on brewing potions. You need to focus on your auror training and figure out if it’s really the right path for you.” She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, though in reality she was trying desperately not to cry.

Ron nodded. “You’re probably right. I’m a mess. Truly. But you’ve always made it better for me, Hermione.”

She half-smiled. “I’ve tried, Ron. But it’s not just on me to make you better. It never has been. It’s on you, too. I’m not just something for you to throw your problems at, expect help, and never reciprocate.”

With one last deep sigh, Ron grimaced. “So are we broken up?”

“I think it’s for the best.”

Hermione moved back in with Luna the following week; the blonde was delighted to have a flatmate again. As soon as their relationship turned platonic once more, Ron seemed to let his hair down, so-to-speak. Where there had once been pressure to make things work, there was now a comfortable space between them.

Just like that, Hermione decided that she was done trying to be with someone who didn’t take the time to appreciate who she was and all she was capable of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you figure out what movie they went to watch?
> 
> Sending love as always.  
> Reviews brighten my whole day.  
> Come join me on tumblr @biscuitsforpotter for Dramione fun.
> 
> -BiscuitsForPotter


	3. Used and Disposed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful Exquisite Obsidian and Highlyintelligentblonde for being Alpha and Beta for me.
> 
> This piece was inspired both by the Nikita Gill poem "Tough Love" (each of the 4 stanzas will open a chapter) and the movie Waitress.

**III.**

**You are not a piece**

**of toilet paper.**

**So why are you**

**letting other people**

**use and dispose of you?**

The whole room was abuzz as the cocktail reception for the 2001 European Grand Potions Conference got underway. Potions masters, suppliers, sellers, and business partners had all gathered at the Italian Ministry of Magic. Hermione Granger, fresh from her recently-completed potions apprenticeship, leaned on a standing table in the corner of the atrium, glass of white wine in hand. She had been a little nervous to attend her first potions event as a master. How could she compare to all the brilliant minds she had read about in _Potion Press_? The thought had almost given her nausea.

But then, through the sea of faces, she had seen a familiar one: Anthony Goldstein.

The friendly Ravenclaw was attending this conference as a potential business partner and marketer; from the brief conversation they had shared in passing between panel discussions, she learned that he had officially taken over his father’s marketing business this previous year. This was also his first conference. They had parted ways after a few moments, promising to catch up during the cocktail reception that evening.

After grabbing her glass of wine, she ended up waiting no more than a couple of minutes before Anthony’s honey-coloured head floated into view. She waved him over, a grin on her face.

“So what brings you to this specific conference, Anthony?” she asked, taking a sip of her Pinot Noir.

“I’m looking for a new potions star on the rise to work with me,” he answered, nursing a firewhisky. “My family’s company isn’t big enough yet to acquire an established master, so I’ve come to chat up a bunch of newcomers like yourself. See if one of them would like to get on board.”

He ended the last sentence with a questioning tone, an expectant, closed-mouth smile on his lips and raised eyebrows.

Hermione quirked her head to the side. “Did… did you mean _me_? Work with _you_?”

Anthony chuckled, setting his tumbler on the table. “Yes, Hermione. You’re brilliant and there’s no one I’d rather have brewing for me. If you’ll allow it, I’d love to take you on as my star client.”

She downed the rest of her glass before setting it down beside the tumbler. A little liquid courage couldn’t hurt this conversation. “I hadn’t expected to come to my very first conference and walk away with a brewing arrangement. I’m just here to learn and shake hands.”

“Well if you don’t mind me saying, _I_ came to this conference specifically to get you on board. I read your name in the most recent edition of _Potion Press_ as a promising up-and-coming master and just knew I had to talk to you. I remember the way you were at Hogwarts. If there’s anyone who’s going to make my name big in the potion business world, it’s you.”

Hermione felt her face heat up at the compliment. She wasn’t used to much praise after her relationship with Ron. Or Cormac. And Anthony Goldstein wasn’t a bad person to receive a compliment from; he had always had guts and brains back at Hogwarts, much like her. One of the first students to speak out against Professor Umbridge and a two-time member of the D.A., Anthony was known by her to be both determined and smart.

Perhaps, having an ally like him would help her potions reach those who needed them most.

“Just _had to_ talk to me, huh?” Hermione laughed, leaning on her elbow. “Well here I am. Make your pitch, Mr. Goldstein.” She grabbed another glass of wine from a waiter walking by with a tray.

Anthony described his vision: she would brew, and he would advertise to apothecaries and hospitals, among other places. With his expertise for market trends, he would be able to point her in the right direction for potions that were needed in the world. They would split the profits, and both be a smash success before they she could scrub her cauldron spotless.

When he finished talking, he flashed a winning smile at her, his eyes expectant.

His enthusiasm was contagious. It all seemed to make sense to her, because she responded quickly, “Yeah. All right.”

Anthony stood stock still for a moment before finishing his own drink. “Hot damn. I get to work with Hermione Granger!”

Back in England, they set up an office together. Anthony’s large desk was up front, while Hermione’s brand-new potions lab sat just through a door to the back. Though he spent most of his time replying to owls, making Floo calls, and writing up negotiations, Anthony still found time throughout the day to check in with Hermione on her work. Sometimes, he helped her prep ingredients; other times, they just chatted about whatever. Work. Hogwarts. Crazy potions theories.

It all felt nice with Anthony. Smooth. It felt as though they were on the same level.

She found she even enjoyed the way he flirted with her in the office. He often winked at her when the conversed and stood a little closer than necessary: touches of the hand or brushes of the feet when they sat. Sometimes, he even brought her little treats to keep her energy up while brewing. Biscuits. Fruit. Sandwiches. Once, she even returned to her lab after her a short break to find a single gardenia sitting on her work station.

The butterflies in her stomach returned right then, full stop.

They fell into an affectionate, productive rhythm at work, and the more time passed, the more overt their flirtations grew. A touch on the shoulder became a hand on the waist; a lingering smile became a peck on the cheek; a brush of their lips became a heated snog.

All their touches, smiles, and kisses built up a frenzy within Hermione. He made her feel alive again. And not just alive. She felt appreciated – _truly_ appreciated for the first time. Being around Anthony was intoxicating, and their chemistry both in and out of the lab was electric.

And she didn’t just mean that because he had fucked her until she screamed on her lab table.

After, Anthony did the gentlemanly thing and asked her on a proper date. Sitting together at the fondue restaurant, his thigh brushing up against hers, Hermione couldn’t help but feel as though she had finally met someone who could be with as her intellectual partner – someone who would treat her as an equal.

Working together with Anthony and then turning right around and going on a date together felt easy. They spent practically all of their time side by side, just the two of them. None of the struggles she had faced before in relationships seemed to be an issue. Anthony liked her intellectual side; each time she went off on a tangent about a potion she was creating, he listened intently, nodding his head at all the right parts.

Hermione’s heart grew in love faster than she thought possible. After her break-up with Ron, she had promised herself to be cautious with her heart. Logically, she knew that she shouldn’t be in love with Anthony Goldstein yet; she knew that their relationship was based on business, and that could sour quickly should their romance peter out. And yet.

Being with Anthony made her feel appreciated and loved, and that wasn’t a feeling she wanted to give up any time soon. They worked together all day and went home together at night. They almost never saw other friends. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she had gone out for drinks with Harry and Ginny or had gone to the Burrow for dinner. He was quickly becoming her entire world.

Perhaps that should have been the first red flag. But how could she have known?

When he proposed only a few months into their relationship, maybe she should have counted that as another flag.

Instead, she accepted.          

The two of them had been basking in their recent success from Hermione’s new child-safe version of dreamless sleep potion. Interview requests kept pouring in one after another, requesting to speak to the pair of them. Anthony had used one of their press conferences to get down on one knee and ask Hermione to be his wife.

In that moment, the world around her stopped. Though cameras continued flashing and reporters began to scream with delight, all Hermione could see was Anthony’s charming smile as he looked up at her, ring in hand.

A little voice at the back of her head told her to stop and think about this – that it was far too soon to be thinking about marriage. A wiser Hermione might have heeded this advice, but the combination of Anthony’s hopeful face and the presence of the crowd made her push those thoughts away.

The reporters continued to hold their breaths as she raised both hands to her face to cover her mouth in surprise.

It was through a teary-eyed smile that she responded with an enthusiastic, “Yes!”

Their picture was splashed across the cover of the next month’s edition of _Potion Press_ ; the article within proclaimed them the “power-couple of potioneering.”

Anthony framed both the cover and article and hung them over his desk.

Continuing with the whirlwind nature of their relationship, they decided not to delay marriage. During the six months it took to plan their wedding, business boomed more than ever. Several of Hermione’s potion creations were now being regularly stocked at Slug and Jiggers and at St. Mungo’s, to the point where she had thoughts of hiring her own apprentice or assistant. On top of mounting numbers of orders, she had also taken wedding planning under her wing; though Hermione had wanted a quiet ceremony, Anthony practically insisted on a large affair.

“For the business,” he had asserted. “You shouldn’t worry that gorgeous head of yours about something like a big wedding. It’ll take us to the next level.”

Hermione soon found herself buried between cake samples and potion samples. She dreamed in seating charts and ingredient lists. Anthony always seemed to be corresponding with someone, whether it was a distributor or a caterer.

By the time her wedding weekend arrived, Hermione was almost too exhausted to enjoy it. Even as she zipped up the the sparkly white ballgown Anthony had admired in one of her bridal magazines, she felt a bit light-headed, as though she was watching someone else in her wedding dress. The whole wedding felt like a blur, honestly; she blinked, and it was over. All that work and stress, and it was done in an instant. Perhaps it _had_ been a good idea to make the wedding so public after all – with all the journalists and photographers present, there would be plenty of documentation of the whole thing. That would likely be her only way to truly remember the wedding. It was rather odd, but the one moment from the short ceremony that she saw crystal clear in her memory was Ron’s forced smile as he watched her walk down the aisle.

Their honeymoon in Santorini ended up being far more memorable. With a beach to themselves and no potions between them for once, Hermione lost count of the number of times they had sex that week. Seeing Anthony glowing in the Mediterranean sun made him practically irresistible in her eyes, and she had a hard time keeping her hands off of him. When they weren’t making love, they discussed potion ideas and new markets they could tap into.

* * *

 

Hermione Goldstein returned from her honeymoon refreshed and ready to get to work. Anthony insisted that she take as much time as she needed in the lab; he would take care of all the post-marriage “bureaucratic nonsense.”

Nearly a month after Anthony declared their paperwork finished, it came as quite a shock when she was informed by the Gringotts goblins that her individual account had been suspended, its funds transferred to the Goldstein vault.

“And when exactly did this happen?” she insisted with a huff, her shoe tapping on the marble floor.

“Our records indicate that your husband visited us on the second of November to follow-up on a marital merger of vaults,” the goblin at the counter informed her as he pushed a piece of parchment toward her. There, at the bottom, was Anthony’s signature, tight, but loopy.

She marched home that night, fire in her belly about making such huge decisions without consulting her. I mean, honestly? Suspending her personal bank account? Of all the unnecessary things to do…

Anthony had a different explanation.

When she had turned up at home all up in arms, he reassured her of the normality of the procedure. He insisted that by consolidating funds, she could spend more time brewing and less time worrying about other things.

“Besides,” he had said as he aligned a stack of parchment, “we’re not splitting profits fifty-fifty any more. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine. Just let me know if you ever need to get money out and I’ll give you the key.” He flashed that same charming grin again before returning to work. When she raised her voice to protest, he quickly cut her off. “You don’t need to go and get upset over a dumb little thing like a shared bank account, do you? We share a life anyway, right?”

Anthony’s smile remained on his face, though his eyes were communicating something quite different.

Hermione got the message. Conversation over.

Married life as Mrs. Goldstein was much like it had been before. Hermione brewed in her lab while Anthony worked up front. With demand for their new potions higher than ever, there often wasn’t enough energy leftover at the end of the day for much else other than sleep. After several frustrating, sexless weeks, lunch hour at the office began to include quick indiscretions. On her work table. Against the wall. On the floor. In his office chair.

When Hermione received a birth notice by owl for James Sirius Potter one afternoon, she decided to close up shop early to visit her friends and their new arrival. Excitement bubbled in her stomach at the thought of seeing Harry and Ginny. Surely, they were over the moon with joy. Just as she slid the key into the lock of their office door, Anthony rounded the street corner.

“What on earth are you doing? It’s three o’clock.”

Hermione waved the birth notice in her hand. “I thought I’d go visit Harry and Ginny. Baby James arrived yesterday and I’d like to–”

“We just got a huge order in for more of your dreamless sleep. You can’t just leave without checking with me first. It’s going to be a long night.”

Hermione sighed. She could visit the baby tomorrow.

When one long night turned into several, all under Anthony’s watchful eye, she put off visiting her friends indefinitely.

Once a month, Anthony spent the entire day pouring over a special insider’s report he received from various apothecaries and medical facilities. Those were the days Hermione knew not to disturb him at his desk. On one such particular Thursday in September, her husband burst into the lab ten minutes before they were supposed to leave, chest heaving, a long parchment in hand.

“I’ve got it!” he cried, a gleam in his eye.

“What exactly is it that you’ve got?” Hermione responded as she stirred her newest batch of an experimental balm for snake bites.

“The key to our success, my wife.” He whisked her away from her cauldron, planting a kiss on her cheek. She wiped her hands on her apron before wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Cosmetic potions.” He spoke those two words as though they were the best words he had ever heard – as though they had been preceded by some dramatic drumroll.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. “Cosmetic potions? Honey, we agreed that I was going to be brewing new healing potions – potions that would be helpful to people. That’s how we’re marketing our brand, isn’t it?”

“No, but you see – that’s still true!” Anthony grinned as he explained the market research. The numbers were there, it seemed, but something about the sudden switch in directions left Hermione cold. Nothing about the list of ideas her husband had handed her left her with any excitement.

“You just don’t remember what we talked about, do you?” Anthony said after she stood in silence for several long seconds. “We agreed when we started this partnership that I would tell you what the market needs. And this is it.”

Hermione shook her head. “But _does_ the world really need them? Potions for adjusting your ears or your eye color? Or breast size? I’m sure it’s a necessity for a small percentage of people, but it just seems so… superficial. Wouldn’t we lose our customer base?”

Something about her words seemed to trigger Anthony’s temper. He crumpled the parchment in his hands and held the counter behind him in a vice grip. “You know?” he began, his eyes narrowed at her, venom in his voice, “I’ve been sitting at my desk for hours doing this research. Hours! All this work that I’m doing – I’m doing it all for you. To get your work and your name out there. Just do what I tell you to do, Hermione. It’ll work out. I swear it will.”

Hermione stood frozen beside her lab table, unable to move. Anthony hadn’t moved a muscle, either; he wasn’t nearly as big as Ron or Cormac, but somehow, his presence in that moment loomed far larger than either of her previous boyfriends.

Licking her lips, she steeled herself, a mask forming on her face. “Of course. Let’s do that, then.”

His demeanor changed in an instant, his usual grin returning. It felt slightly less charming, somehow.

* * *

 

Over the course of the next several months, Hermione got to work developing the potions Anthony had suggested. Appearance-altering solutions. Anti-aging draughts. None of it was terribly complicated from a theoretical standpoint, so she was able to devote more of her time to the actual brewing and less to the part she loved: research and experimentation.

As her husband had predicted, these products distributed and sold faster than anything she had created before. It was a bit disheartening, but frankly, Hermione didn’t have the time to feel disappointed. She brewed in her lab from sun up to sun down, but she still found a mountain of orders waiting for her anew each morning.

Several months ago, she would have asked Anthony to pop in the back and prep ingredients for her. Perhaps they might have fooled around a bit when they finished. But he wasn’t around half the time any longer. They hadn’t had much sex recently, either. He had begun traveling the European potions conference circuit to promote their products shortly after Christmas, leaving her to complete all the orders by herself.

When Hermione brought this up to him at the end of January, hovering in the doorframe that separated their workspaces, she spoke in a trembling voice. She suggested that perhaps they could hire an assistant for her.

He had scoffed at the notion.

“Are you a potions master or not?” he spat as he sorted through papers on his desk. “If you can’t keep up with demand, that doesn’t you make you a very good one.”

When Hermione opened her mouth to speak, he continued over her. “No one besides me would want to have a potions master in their employ who can’t keep up with a demanding work schedule. You’re lucky we made that partnership and you have a secure job here.”

For the second time in her marriage, Hermione felt her insides turn to ice as her husband’s presence became menacing, if only for a split second.

* * *

 

Time passed, and while Hermione still felt loved and appreciated by her husband, something continuously felt… off. There was no other way she could describe it. Frankly, she didn’t have the energy to. Though she constantly refined and streamlined her brewing practices, she still arrived at the lab before dawn each day and left after sundown. She spent so much time in her lab that she began to neglect her appearance – a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Anthony.

“You’d be more attractive if you just tamed that hair of yours. It’s always extra wild when you’ve been brewing all day,” he complained whenever she came home in this state. That was most days.

His new nickname for her was ‘Frizzy’. He claimed it was affectionate, and she tried to take it that way. But every time the word fell from his lips, it chipped away at her heart just a little.

She wanted desperately to reconnect with Anthony – to feel the solid connection they had once shared. Though she briefly considered the notion of taking a holiday together for their second wedding anniversary, his voice crept into her thoughts:

 _No one besides me would want to have a potions master in their employ who can’t keep up with a demanding work schedule_.

His voice had begun entering her thoughts more and more as the months trickled by. Though she knew he considered her brilliant, it always seemed there were conditions to that brilliance.

_You’re smart, love, and I’m the only one who truly sees that._

_No one else even comes close to appreciating just how brilliant you are._

Without the time or permission to see friends, no one was there to contradict him.

It wasn’t until after over two years of marriage that Hermione began to connect the dots. Months of brewing the same handful of potions allowed her to mentally check out as she worked, and she made this particular connection as she finished the final orders of the 2004 Christmas rush. With her mind free to wander, memories popped up in waves. His immediate gravitation toward her. All the promises he made about their partnership. Their incredibly public relationship. As she remembered each one, the image of her entire marriage came crashing around her.

It was all a sham, wasn’t it? Each time Anthony Goldstein grew closer to her, his marketing business gained more publicity and the gold in his vault grew exponentially. The thought of being used to such a degree filled her veins with disgust, and she almost threw off her apron right then and there to storm over to him.

Almost.

But what if she was wrong?

_You’re smart, love, and I’m the only one who truly sees that._

She shivered, but it certainly wasn’t from the December chill seeping through the windows.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight that New Years, Hermione toasted the year 2005 with her husband from their sofa at home.

“What’s your resolution, love?” he asked, downing his champagne. “It’s something about me, isn’t it? Something good.”

“Yes, dear. It is.” She offered a tight smile in return.

He gave that charming smile again. “Good.”

What he didn’t realize was that she had resolved to get out. Somehow.

Hermione thought briefly about contacting Harry or even Ron to help her, but every time she thought about facing them, her heart seemed to leap out of her chest and bile climbed in her throat. She hadn’t seen them in almost two years. Anthony had kept her from them – from everyone. She could see it clearly now. He had deliberately put space between her and the others in her life who cared about her, all to manipulate her for the success of his business.

If she reached out to her friends, would they even recognize the person she had become? So unsure of herself and dependent on her husband…

Her stomach rocked with nausea as the new year began.

No, she was in this alone.

The very next day, after Anthony left for another potions conference in Brussels, Hermione began to arrange for private potion sales out of the office. She placed an ad in a back page of _Witch Weekly_ , a publication she knew her husband never touched. Bruise salves. Pepper-up potion. Sleeping draughts of various strengths. These were the items she sold to begin her Fresh-Start Fund.

Within months, every nook and cranny of her lab was crammed with hidden galleons, sickles, and knuts. For the first time in a long time, she felt a ray of confidence. It was like having a safety net. She allowed herself to start looking at descriptions of one-room flats for rent listed in the _Daily Prophet_. When Anthony was away, she started experimenting with her potions once more.

Yes, she had a vision, all right. Get enough money to get out. Find a new job brewing potions. Any job. She’d take it. Never see Anthony again.

Live her own damn life.

That was the plan. At least until Anthony discovered her money stash just weeks before their third anniversary.

The day had been normal until the moment he had kissed her. As of late, she hadn’t been giving into her husband’s attempts at affection. How could she, not when she knew what kind of awful person he was? But something about the way his lips pressed feather-light on her neck and his hands traced her curves must have tripped her baser instincts, and she gave in.

They had fucked on her work table, like old times. As they lay in the aftermath of their deed, Hermione almost felt that same warmth and connection she had once associated with moments like these.

Almost.

Anthony had been about to finish zipping up his trousers when he saw it: a stray galleon in a corner of the room. Hermione watched his eyes dart to the coin. She stood helpless as he blazed toward it.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded, shoving the galleon in her face.

“It’s a coin,” she answered bluntly, trying to keep her tone steady.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he spat.

She shook her head, trying to look innocent.

“Are there more?”

He spoke in quietly in a low tone that felt dangerous.

“I said: Are. There. More.” he threw the coin across the room.

When she didn’t respond, he began to tear her lab apart. He opened cabinets and threw the contents on the floor, smashing them to bits. He swept through bookshelves and tipped over cauldrons.

In the end, he found all of it. Fifty galleons, fourteen sickles, and two knuts.

Hemione pushed her fear and disappointment deep inside as Anthony looked her up and down.

“We have a shared bank account, Hermione. If you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask. But I give you everything you need, don’t I? I brought us this level of success. You want for nothing, right?”

Hermione found herself nodding, trying to keep it together. All those months of gathering her means of escape bit by bit, gone in an instant.

She wanted to scream but knew better. Anthony still held all the cards.

“It was for an anniversary dinner for us and a present for you,” she lied easily. “I wanted to surprise you and take you to a special place for our third anniversary.”

She watched as the tension in Anthony’s frame eased, his anger fading to affection, though she wasn’t sure anymore if she believed he could actually feel the latter emotion.

Regardless, he was certainly proficient at pretending to feel it.

* * *

 

 _Potion Press_ asked them to do a special photoshoot for the cover of their October 2005 issue, and Anthony had accepted on their behalf without hesitation. As she gazed into her husband’s eyes for the camera, her heart stuttered to life for just a moment. The look he gave her in this very public setting told a story of love and devotion; it was a look she remembered from the early days of their relationship.

But he hadn’t looked at her like that in a long time. Not when the cameras weren’t watching. What, she wondered, did he see when he looked at her most days? Did he even see her as human? Or was she just a brain to use and abuse for personal gain?

Looking into his eyes now, she had never felt more unloved.

Anthony was away on business when the proofs of their shoot arrived by owl several weeks later. Hermione opened them with little interest at first. She had just woken up for her usual twelve hours straight of brewing and was in desperate need of a shower and a cup of strong coffee.

She slid the prints out of the envelope as she padded toward the kitchen. Just as she waved her wand to start the stove, the photograph on the top of the stack caught her eye.

She and Anthony both wore violet robes emblazoned with the Goldstein Brand logo. While her husband gazed at her with adoration, Hermione had been instructed to look straight at the camera. She now found herself looking directly into her own eyes.

What she saw shook her to her core.

Her brown eyes, which Ron had once described as full of life, looked dull and practically dead.

Who was this person staring back at her? Who was this woman she no longer recognized? This woman who had lived in near-isolation for three years and had churned out meaningless potion after potion – who was she? Was that her? Was that truly who she had become?

The thought made her sick.

No, she was actually sick, it seemed.

A wave of nausea crashed over her in that moment, and she dropped the photos on the table before rushing to the nearest loo and vomiting into the toilet.

Hermione leaned on the toilet seat, trying to catch her breath. She wanted to cry. What sort of mess had she gotten herself into? Time after time, she kept ending up in shitty relationships.

Cormac had only wanted her for sex, but had been too immature to communicate that.

Ron had loved her but had treated her poorly because of his own insecurities.

And Anthony? Anthony was the worst of all. He had manipulated her for years until she was powerless in order to use her for her brain. Three years of marriage had left her more unloved, ignored, and unappreciated than she ever had felt before.

She threw up again. And again. And continued to throw up sporadically for several days until she ended up vomiting spectacularly in front of an elderly woman customer at the office.  

“Must be all the strong smells in here, dearie,” the woman had suggested after Hermione merely rolled her eyes and vanished the sick. “This certainly would have made me ill when I was pregnant.”

“P-pregnant?” Hermione stuttered, wiping her mouth.

“You seemed so unconcerned that you vomited that I guessed it was a regular occurrence.”

She assured the woman she would check for pregnancy and ran back to her lab to do just that the moment she was alone. She really hoped she wasn’t pregnant. How could she have been stupid enough to sleep with her husband? After she knew what he truly was? Plain stupid.

The pregnancy check charm was a familiar one; she had learned about it years ago along with every other fifth year Hogwarts girl. Waving her wand above her abdomen, a soft, swirling light emitted from the end of her wand.

Pregnant.

A baby. She was going to have a baby. That was that. The realization hit her in an instant, and she crumpled into a nearby chair.

She breathed in and out, trying to focus on the sensation of air filling and emptying her lungs. Her brain was playing catch up. As the minutes ticked by, though she expected panic to set in, the moment she placed her hands on her stomach, an odd sense of calm washed over her. Where there had been doubt and fear, determination and courage now took their place. Her heart felt as though it was beating stronger than it had in years. She sat up straighter, breathed deeper.

It was in that exact moment that she decided she was done.

No more shame. No more secrecy or isolation. No more Anthony.

Hermione didn’t bother to wait until Anthony returned to end things with him. After an efficient trip to the Ministry, she was assured that her husband would receive the divorce papers in a timely manner at his hotel in Munich. She didn’t wait for a response. She didn’t need to.

She was done waiting around for the man – any man – who treated her like garbage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending love as always.  
> Reviews brighten my whole day.  
> Come join me on tumblr @biscuitsforpotter for Dramione fun.
> 
> -BiscuitsForPotter


	4. Made of Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the wonderful Exquisite Obsidian and Highlyintelligentblonde for being Alpha and Beta for me.
> 
> This piece was inspired both by the Nikita Gill poem "Tough Love" (each of the 4 stanzas will open a chapter) and the movie Waitress.

**IV.**

**You are made of magic,**

**don’t you dare**

**allow yourself**

**to be treated**

**like you are any less.**

From the moment she saw her daughter in the delivery room at St. Mungo’s, wrinkled, slimy, purple, and screaming, Hermione fell head-over-heels in love. So entranced was she by the little bundle that she hardly noticed as the mediwitch bustled around her, taking care of all the necessary after-business of birth. From sweet little cheeks to tiny toes, Hermione tried to soak in every last detail of the baby in her arms. She reached out a finger and stroked the infant’s head; it felt impossibly soft, like silky feathers.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her breath caught in her throat. This sweet little baby was all hers.

All the painful, drawn-out confrontations over the past eight months had led to this moment – the moment she met her daughter. It had all been for this: the divorce, the custody fight, the legal proceedings concerning her copyright of her potions. Everything.

Anthony had cried and begged on his knees when he returned from his business trip all those months ago, refusing to sign the papers. He had sniveled and dripped tears on her blouse until she told him her demands: the copyrights for her creations and backpay for all units sold sent to her newly-reactivated Gringotts account. At these words, his tears dried immediately and were replaced with screams and curses.

But as she had decided, Hermione Granger was done being manipulated. She reached out to those from whom she had been kept all those years, asking for help. Harry. Ginny. Luna. Even her parents. They had all welcomed her into their worried arms and had given her just the right amount of support as newspapers and magazines exploded with news of the demise of the great Goldstein potions empire. They stood by her side through the end of her lawsuit when she left the Ministry, patent papers and the key to a full Gringotts vault in hand.

After all that, Anthony hadn’t batted an eye when she asked him to terminate his parental rights to their child.

“You’re a real bitch, you know,” he had said after he signed the legal documents. “You’ve single-handedly ruined everything we worked for. No one will sign on to work with me.”

“Well, I recall you telling me once,” she began, rolling up the parchment and sticking in her purse, “that If there was anyone who was going to make your name big in the potions business world, it was me. And now, Mr. Goldstein, you’re infamous.”

Without a backwards glance, she marched from the room. Anthony hadn’t contacted her since.

Now, little Matilda Anne Granger had come into her life, and her world was forever shifted.

Hermione rocked her daughter late at night, the two of them alone in the dark, quiet nursery. It was on nights like this that the rest of the world faded away. All she could see was was her daughter and the wonderful life they would build together. She looked into her baby’s trusting eyes and saw strength and love reflected back. Every time she held Matilda in her arms, a warm fluttering filled her chest; all the butterflies she had ever felt for boys didn’t begin to compare to the fullness this sensation gave her.

This little person in her arms relied on her for everything, and in return, Hermione felt needed and appreciated in a whole new light. She wanted to scoop Matilda up and hold her in her arms forever. Her little girl had never experienced hurt; her skin and her heart were yet unbroken.

She needed to be better for her daughter. She needed to be better for herself - to love herself as much as her daughter seemed to.

Something about those quiet hours in the nursery before the dawn felt entirely made of magic.

Determined anew, Hermione began to meet with potion development groups and distributors to find a good match a couple months after the baby’s birth. She wanted to work with someone who would allow her to follow her interests at her own pace. Someone who promised to trust  her the same way her daughter did: completely. She attended meetings with various companies, Matilda accompanying her each time. Hermione found that cradling her daughter to her chest in a baby carrier while discussing the finer points of brewing modified Polyjuice potion really sorted the candidates to consider from the ones she’d rather not work with.

In the end, her choice surprised her.

From the moment she walked into the board room at Malfoy Industries, something about the place felt right. Of course, her instincts had been wrong before, so she decided to proceed with caution. Draco seemed enthusiastic about getting her on board with his company, baby and all. Their meeting lasted over an hour; Draco played with Matilda’s chubby feet as they conversed, though his eyes never left hers as she spoke. Hermione spent almost the entire time interrogating him about his intentions to acquire her as a potions master.

Why did he want her to work there?

What kind of potions was she expected to make?

What would her hours be?

Could she work from a home laboratory?

What would her salary look like?

Would she be allowed to choose the topics of her research?

After being used for so long, she wanted to make sure he had no nefarious intentions.

He answered all of her questions. Every single one. In detail. He didn’t paint a rosy picture of working together, but he did suggest a productive, positive one.

“And Ms. Granger,” he chuckled, Matilda’s fist wrapped around his finger, “with regards to your concerns, I have no intention of telling you what to brew. By taking you on as a partner, I’m trusting you to follow your instincts and make us the best product possible. If you make us something terrible, obviously I’ll tell it like it is. But I want you to explore as far and as wide as you’d like to bring us something fantastic.”

“Aren’t you concerned about lack of profit if you have no say in what I brew?” Hermione asked, holding back her smile as Matilda tried to shove Draco’s fingers in her mouth.

“Not at all. I like to think I’ve got a decent eye for business, and I’ve gotten the keen sense that you’ve always known exactly what people need. Even if they don’t realize it yet.” Draco continued to speak, even as Matilda gummed his hand.

Hermione thanked him for his time and pulled Matilda off of him. She asked for several days to think over his offer.

“Take your time,” he called as she exited his office, a kind smile on his face.

When she responded to him by owl one week later with her acceptance, he sent her contract over almost immediately. Reading it from beginning to end, his offer seemed incredibly fair. She would work partially on commission, of course, but there were no stipulations for the type of potions she could brew or the number of times she could switch directions of her research. Any meetings could be held on her terms to accommodate her child. Most importantly, all potions she created would be copyrighted under her name to ensure that if they ever parted ways, she would still be able to support herself.

After reading the contract in full five times, she signed the dotted line.

As it turned out, caring for a baby as she brewed was excellent inspiration for potion-making. By the time Matilda took first steps, Hermione had developed and patented a line of special baby and mummy care potions. Colic cures. Burp-inducing solution. Nipple repair potion.

Malfoy Industries considered her products some of their best-selling items, and Draco Malfoy always sang her praises whenever they met to discuss business. Of course, he also sang her daughter’s praises as well.

“Mattie, my darling!” he would call to her when they arrived in his office, his arms outstretched to the curly-haired toddler as she flew toward him on her tiny feet, giggling. Hermione rather disliked the nickname he had given her daughter, but she was a sucker for that little girl’s happiness. And her daughter certainly adored Draco Malfoy.

The two were practically peas in a pod. Strangers had even mistaken them for father and child. Whenever they had a meeting, Matilda liked to crawl on his lap and follow him around like a little duckling, copying everything he did. Seeing them together made her heart sing. Without Matilda’s real father in the picture, it was healthy for her to have good men in her life. Of course, she had her grandfather and Harry as well. And Matilda loved them, of course.

But Draco was clearly her favorite; only _he_ called her Mattie and spoiled her rotten with lollies and wizarding fairytales.

Watching them interact made the part of her heart that she had sworn to lock up and throw away the key begin to stutter to life once more. Truth be told, she found Draco Malfoy to be incredibly attractive. He often opted not to wear traditional robes, but instead, three-piece suits left her feeling a little hot under the collar.

Hermione hadn’t had sex since Matilda was conceived well over two years previously, and sometimes her thoughts liked to wander and betray her. That part wasn’t the bit that caused her anguish, though. No, she was a hot-blooded woman just like every other woman out there.

No, what really bothered her was the way he was worming his way into her heart. She was pretty sure he knew it, too. With the way he coddled Matilda, how could he not know what he was doing to her? But it wasn’t just his charm that attracted her. He was always honest with her and didn’t spew off bullshit to get his way. He didn’t yell or scream or try to redirect her.

He was kind, which was something she had come to believe a man around her could never truly be.

Yes, that may have been true. But when he asked her out on a date after a particularly successful meeting a week before Matilda’s second birthday, she turned him down in a matter of seconds.

“Not to pry or anything,” he asked as Matilda zoomed around his office making horse noises, “but may I ask why?”

“You have to understand,” she responded, eyes on her daughter, “that Matilda comes first. She will always come first. And I come right after her. Then my work. I can’t put any of that at risk just to feel a bit of romance.”

 She offered a sad smile as Matilda switched to cat noises. “Besides, you know what her father was like. And my other exes. You were there when we were Heads together during eighth year. You saw Cormac break my heart. I’m sure you heard about Ron through the grapevine and read about Anthony in _The Daily Prophet._ I can’t risk my freedom or my heart like that again.”

Draco swallowed and nodded, a wistful expression on his face.

 “I respect that.”

Hermione looked up at him as he spoke. Her eyebrow twitched with slight surprise. “It makes me sad that you went through all that and it left you feeling so exposed. I won’t push. We’ll keep our relationship strictly professional if that’s what you feel is right.”

Matilda chose that exact moment to pull on Draco’s trouser leg, pawing at him. He picked up the toddler and she meowed at him.

“Well,” Hermione chuckled. “Perhaps not entirely professional. You’re still invited to this little monster’s second birthday party next weekend.”

Matilda crinkled her nose and grinned.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Draco planted a kiss on the little girl’s forehead and set her back down on his office floor. “One o’clock at your place, right?”

She confirmed all the details before scooping up her daughter and bidding him goodbye. As her low heels clicked on the polished wood floors that lead to the exit, she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed in herself.

* * *

 

Guests started showing up for Matilda’s party right on time. It was a wonder she had been able to get set up at all. Matilda had thrown a fit after her morning nap and had refused to wear the special birthday outfit Hermione had picked out. Two biscuits and a cup of juice later, she had managed to wrestle the toddler into the adorable baby blue dress. If it hadn’t been for her parents showing up to help an hour early, there might not have even been a party.

 Before long, Hermione’s back garden was filled with toddlers and their parents. Harry and Ginny had arrived with James and Al, who were currently chasing after a gnome. Ron was there as well; Hermione had made a point to try and mend their friendship shortly after Matilda’s birth. He had clearly brought her some product from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, where he now worked alongside George. Hermione rolled her eyes at the lumpy package but welcomed him and pointed him in the direction of the snack table.

Draco Malfoy was among the last guests to arrive. He showed up wearing a patterned shirt and slacks, holding a brightly-wrapped gift. When he opened his mouth to speak what was likely a greeting, he was cut off by a loud shriek as a delighted Matilda rushed toward him.

Hermione watched as her daughter’s favorite person embraced her without hesitation, smothering her with kisses as she giggled heartily.

The sight took her breath away. It was no wonder that so many people thought Draco was Matilda’s father. Hugging her close and looking at her like that, he certainly looked the part. What would it be like to make him a part of their lives? Could she even let another man into her life? Could she let one into Matilda’s?

But what a ridiculous question. Draco Malfoy was already a central part of her daughter’s life. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if she calling him ‘dad’ by mistake one day.

“I heard you’re the birthday girl. Is that true?” he asked in a sweet tone, tugging at her curls.

Her daughter deserved a father. But it wasn’t only that. She, Hermione Granger, deserved someone, too: someone who would love her unconditionally. Someone who would treat her with respect.

In their nearly two-year working relationship, Draco had always respected her choices and ideas. He listened when she complained and gave her fair feedback when she missed the mark. Looking back, she always had always taken the plunge in her relationships too quickly and easily. It hadn’t been her only mistake, but it may have been her biggest.

Wiser and more experienced, she was determined to not repeat that mistake. That’s why she had turned Draco down. She refused to go through hell again.

But what if…

As she watched Draco walk Matilda around the party in his arms, the realization hit her, simple and sweet.

What kind of example was she setting for her daughter down the line if she didn’t take a little risk on a real chance at love? Not a fantasy. Not a manufactured, manipulated image of someone. But on a real man whom she had grown to appreciate and care for?

 Suddenly flushed, she made her way toward the side of the garden where Matilda was showing Draco the fairy house they kept next to the flower beds.

“Draco, may I speak to you a moment?” she asked, fidgeting with the skirt of her pale-yellow dress.

He nodded, setting the little girl down. Together, they retreated into the quiet sitting room of her cottage. The moment they were alone, she turned to face him.

“What would you say if I decided to stop creating maternity and infant care potions? If I wanted to work on something more obscure?” She spoke quickly, her heart thumping.

“For instance…?” Draco lifted an eyebrow, confusion painted on his face.

“Oh, I don’t know. Obliviation reversal potions. Or interpretation potions. Something wild that’s never been attempted. What would you say if I wanted to make those?”

Draco paused, considering her for a moment. “I would heartily approve. I’m convinced that the world needs whatever potions you want to make.”

“No problems?”

“None.”

“There would be no financial ramifications for me?”

“Of course, the portion of your salary affected by commission would change based off of sales, but that wouldn’t change from now. I wouldn’t manipulate anything about your job if you decided to switch courses.”

“And if I wanted to switch managers. For personal reasons?”

Draco stopped again, tilting his head slightly. “Are you thinking of quitting? Is it because I asked you out? Well, shit. I really bullocksed that up, didn’t I? I’m so sorr–“

She placed a single finger over his mouth, and he went quiet in an instant.

“Don’t apologize for asking me on a date, Draco. I won’t accept any apology of that sort.”

“…you won’t?”

“Of course not. Not when I’m accepting your offer.”

“Not when you’re – wait, what?” Draco stepped back, confusion more evident than ever.

“I’m accepting. Your date offer, that is. I’d like to go on a date with you. Very much so.”

A grin lit up his face as he listened, but as usual, he asked the right questions.

“And Mattie? What about her?”

“Well she certainly can’t come along with us. We can bring her along next time for a family outing, don’t you think?”

Draco was blinking far more than usual, likely trying to process her sudden reversal.

“I… suppose so.” He looked down her, giddiness radiating from his expression, his body electric. It seemed to be radiating off of him and into her own body, because after a moment, she couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot, either.

“Hermione?” he asked after a moment. “I’d like to kiss you. Is that all right?”

She nodded.

She had kissed lips that felt right at the time – many times, in fact. But never had it felt like this. Never had it felt like coming home.

They walked back out into the garden minutes later, slightly disheveled, hand in hand. From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry giving her an approving, if slightly judgmental look. The moment they stepped into the sunlight, Matilda spotted them and rushed over, her curly hair bouncing as she ran.

Hermione picked up her daughter and held her aloft, peppering her face with kisses.

This life she had – this wonderful, beautiful life – wouldn’t be her reality if she hadn’t given herself some tough love, then and now.

Matilda reached for Draco and clung to him when she transferred to his arms.

“Daddy!” she cried, cuddling into his shoulder.

Draco froze, looking to her for guidance. His eyes were wide and hopeful.

“Yes, little love,” she whispered, patting her daughter’s back. “Daddy.”

Tough love had done her right.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending love as always.  
> Reviews brighten my whole day.  
> Come join me on tumblr @biscuitsforpotter for Dramione fun.
> 
> -BiscuitsForPotter

**Author's Note:**

> Sending love as always.  
> Reviews brighten my whole day.  
> Come join me on tumblr @biscuitsforpotter for Dramione fun. 
> 
> -BiscuitsForPotter


End file.
